


Sleepover

by SpookshowBabyx



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookshowBabyx/pseuds/SpookshowBabyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House visits Cameron on hospital business but ends up stranded when his bike won't start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Girl Scout cookies!"

House bellows as he raps his cane insistently against the shabbily painted door. He supposes yelling at her through the thin wood is not the best way to begin his apology to Cameron, but decides he doesn't care, knowing full well that no matter how pissed she is at him- he himself can't entirely recall what it is he's supposed to have done- she's going to have to open the door at some time to avoid complaints from the neighbors.

Normally he wouldn't go out of his way to apologize to the young brunette at all- or, in fact, to any of his bemusing fellows- and Cameron's chosen way of dealing with his bullying is more often than not to just avoid him; a coping mechanism he's entirely in favor of. It's not the sweet young doctor's feelings he's here to patch up and kiss better, but rather, he is banking on being able to offload the departmental presentation- sprung rudely upon him by Cuddy- onto her.

"Let me in, little girl, or I'll huff, and I'll puff and I'll- well good evening, Dr Cameron!"

"Is it?"

She moves herself into the wedge of light created within the doorway, arms folded inhospitably across her chest. Despite her efforts to seem disinterestedly hostile, he can tell from the way her eyes flicker up towards his that she is deeply curious as to what he is doing at her apartment. She is still dressed in the same capped sleeved shirt and funny little waistcoat she'd been wearing that afternoon, and her thick hair is pulled back from her pale forehead by her glasses. He catches the faint aroma of putanesca sauce and vaguely wonders if it is homemade or shop bought. Knowing Cameron, he guesses it's homemade, but the idea of anyone bothering to create pasta sauce from scratch only to eat alone is just about too pitiful to consider.

_Pitiful, but almost certainly true. In fact there are probably several containers of left-overs rapidly cooling in her freezer._

_Muy depressing._

"-doing here?"

House snaps back to the present as her words infiltrate his thoughts.

"What?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop by."

"Uhuh..."

Her eyes narrow suspiciously, green boring into blue. He sighs and makes to move past her into the inviting glow of her living room, forgoing any further conversation as it will all eventually lead to the same conclusion. She will let him in. She's too polite not too.

"I need to talk to you."

His shoulder brushes hers as he slides past her and she instantly shies away from the contact as if scalded. House is too used to the brunette's bizarre mannerisms when in his presence to pay her reaction any mind, and simply limps into the pleasant warmth of her apartment. He takes a seat on her slightly threadbare sofa and instantly clocks the empty bottle of wine that rests on the coffee table beside a glass a sip away from the same fate.

Cameron eyes House warily as he goes about making himself at home, pushing her front door shut behind her with a hollow click. Her living room has just the one sofa and she is unsure what exactly to do with herself as he takes up a large portion of it. She is positive he is spreading himself out on purpose. Unwilling to make a wrong move and land herself on the receiving end of witty ridicule, she wanders into the kitchenette and pours herself a glass of water she doesn't actually want.

"Are you doing drinks? Mine's a bourbon on ice"

He watches her intently as he speaks, for the simple reason he knows it makes her squirm. She surprises him however, by disappearing behind her kitchen island to root around in the lefthand cupboard, quick to return with a bottle of blue label Jim Beam. He offers a curt nod of approval, unwilling to allow his face to convey his unlikely respect for her poison of choice. Pulling a squat tumbler from the cupboard above her sink- followed by a second after a moment's hesitation- she frees a couple of cubes from an obnoxiously blue ice tray into each and splashes them with a healthy dose of amber liquid. The ice crackles and hisses temptingly and House reaches forward to take a deep sip when she places it before him on the low coffee table.

"So. What do you want?"

She hovers at the opposite end of the table, her reluctance to sit making him feel all the more awkward.

"I wanted to come say I'm sorry."

He continues to study her and frowns as she gives a small quirk of her mouth that could almost be mistaken as a sign of amusement. She takes a drink from her own glass before cocking her head to the side, returning his gaze with newfound ease as the Beam settles warmly in her stomach.

"Ok... What is it you're sorry for?"

House rolls his eyes irritably. He should have known she'd do this.

"I'm sorry for whatever it is I did that caused you to storm off into the bathroom for a suspiciously long time and then disappear home the minute your shift was up without a word to anyone... I mean, I get it, I'm an ass, but the boys missed their goodbye kisses..."

"Right"

"...And I solemnly swear to never do whatever it is I did again for as long as I live. Maybe."

Cameron circles the rim of her glass thoughtfully with her index finger.

"Well, I'd almost be inclined to accept your lame apology, but as  _unbelievable_  as this may sound, it wasn't actually you that I was pissed at."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"But-"

"-I know, I'm almost as shocked as you are! There's always next week though, I'm sure you'll think of something."

She offers him a shy smile and he can't help but return it with a smirk of his own; her timid sarcasm strangely endearing. He takes another sip of the deliciously cool drink in his hand and raises an eyebrow quizzically.

"So, if you weren't angry with  _me._.."

"Chase. And Foreman."

"Ah! Were the big, mean boys playing too roughly with you?"

"Something like that."

She shrugs in attempt to drop the issue. The fact that periwinkle blue eyes continue to burn into her skin doesn't really come as a surprise, and she gives him a measured look; calling him on his insatiable curiosity.

"It's nothing. It was just something stupid I found out today, that's all."

"Took you long enough,  _I've_  known known those two were stupid for the better part of two years now."

"I didn't _say_  they were stupid... Just that they can  _do_  stupid things sometimes."

"Well, you tell your Uncle Greg all about it; I need my kiddies to play nice with each other."

She grimaces at the name, offering him a burlesque shudder which amuses him. He briefly considers patting his knee and requesting her to take a seat, but decides he has better material and discards the creepy-father-figure bit. Instead he simply waits her hesitant silence out until she sighs and runs a distracted hand through her dark hair; cheeks pinkening slightly.

"They had this bet ... Chase told Foreman he could get me drunk before the Christmas party came about, and...Well... The ultimate goal wasn't exactly professional."

Her phrasing tickles him, although he can't help but feel a stab of irritation at not being offered a cut in the stakes. He doesn't suppose Cameron is the sort to be persuaded into feeling flattered rather than grossly degraded so he forgoes attempting it.

"Well, Chase is an ass. At least Foreman bet in your favor?"

"Uhuh, he also offered to double the wager if Chase managed to, uh, 'bed me sober' ..."

House laughs wickedly at this; the words sounding beautifully foreign coming from his youngest fellow's innocent lips. She scowls at his reaction and he offers her a shrug of his shoulders which are still encased in black leather.

"Well, I suppose I can't blame the Wombat for trying..."

His notion is crass but there's no real malice to his tone and the salacious wiggle of his eyebrows when met with her furious glare is so exaggerated she softens a little. House graciously pretends he doesn't notice the fact that she's blushing furiously.

"Men are pigs, especially when surrounded by pretty girls... But hey, at least  _we're_  still friends it would seem?"

"Mmm... A bold statement coming from a man that claims he doesn't even like me."

"Ah, but you like  _me_ , Dr Cameron, and that's a start."

She rolls her eyes, but finally moves to perch on the far end of the sofa. House meanwhile makes a mental note to himself that the Ozzie is going to be finding himself elbow deep in STI related clinic cases.

"So what was with the snow queen act at the door then, given that I'm innocent in all this?"

"Because you simply 'popping round' is about as likely as me bedding Chase. What is it you want?"

"Hey! I make social calls!"

"Hookers and Wilson don't count..."

"You're so picky."

"And  _you're_  stalling."

"Ok, ok, Cuddy wants you to get together a short presentation for the departmental conference next week."

"I see... It sure is _funny_  that she wouldn't rather the head of the department work on something like that."

"Couldn't agree more... But... You know...  _women._ "

House gives her a long-suffering eye roll and she throws him a mock scowl before sighing and leaning back into the sofa.

"Fine."

"What?"

"Fine. I'll do the presentation"

"Just like that?"

"Are you going to leave me alone until I agree?"

"Nope."

"And are you going to make my life a living hell if I say no?"

"That does _sound_  like me."

"Well then..."

She shrugs and sighs dramatically, downing the last of her drink with surprisingly well-practiced finesse. House grins, following suit, and places his empty glass on the table before them. He looks back at her with an expression that is deadly serious; eyes wide and large, calloused hand resting on her skinny knee.

"I've told you I love you, right?"

She blushes crimson, but shakes her head despairingly and makes a shooing gesture with her hand, sure that he is looking for an excuse to leave with his mission now being accomplished.

"Must have missed it."

House takes in her crooked grin with well-hidden amusement and pushes himself off her sofa, offering her a peculiar little nod in farewell.

"I'll see you Monday, Dr Cameron."

"Goodnight, House."

* * *

"What the hell?"

Cameron leans over her kitchen counter, stretching up onto her toes to get a better view of the parking lot outside her building. Below she can see House bathed in the warm glow of the streetlights, and from the sounds of things he appears to be murdering his bike. She feels a little as though she is watching a silent movie as House throws his hands up in irritation and grips the throttle once more. Again, that horrible, piercing shriek of a tortured engine shatters its way through the glass of her kitchen window and she winces, urging him in her head to stop.

Eventually he does, slamming a gloved fist on the shiny body of his bike. He pulls his key from the ignition, and shoves it angrily into his pocket; pulling out his cell in one fluid motion. He scrolls through the lists stored in the phone to no avail and in the end just calls for a general operator and asks to be connected to the nearest garage. A brief pause and he's talking to some idiot who seems to be under the impression that if he repeats the words 'starter engine' and 'fuel ejector' enough times he may fool his clients into thinking he has the faintest clue what he's on about. Only once he gets to quoting a price for a late night service call does he seem sure of himself. House promptly tells him where he can shove it and disconnects the call.

"From your use of language, I'm guessing you'll get a better deal if you call in daylight hours."

House whips round, startled, and takes in Cameron's small form standing hesitantly in the entrance way to her building. He growls something about her being damn right and fishes in his pocket for his key.

"It's not going to work, House."

He ignores her irritably and gives it another shot. The resulting noise is horrible, and he can't keep it going too long, no matter how stubborn he's feeling.

"Come inside."

He sighs, but decides it'll be easier to search for a mechanic who is less of an asshole in the comfort of the young doctor's apartment. Removing his helmet, he stores it back in the bike's hold-all and limps over to where she waits patiently in the flickering glow of the small entrance hall.

He grunts as he brushes against her accidentally when getting into the elevator; her soft hair directly under his nose, accosting him with the rich smell of honey. He shakes his head distractedly and takes a step away, waiting impatiently for the doors to spring open, feeling suddenly a little claustrophobic being in this small space with her when his means of escape is compromised.

Cameron seems not to notice, or at least not to let on if she does, and simply takes a polite step to the side as the door finally springs open to let him walk out first. She has left her apartment door wedged open, and he limps in without being told. She follows quietly, aware that his mood has plummeted in the last five minutes, and taking care not to fall into any habits she knows irritate him.

She hands him her house phone, muttering that it will save him the expense of calling on his mobile, but he leaves the clunky black monstrosity untouched on the kitchen island before him as he tries the operator once more on his cell, hoping for a more favourable result.

She busies herself washing up their glasses, her back turned to him as he swears loudly at another extortionately high roadside recovery fee and hangs up, muttering to himself about his idiocy when it comes to insurance. Throwing together a few choice curse words to finish on, he heads for the door and informs her he'll just damn well walk.

"Don't be an ass, House, it's like an hours walk to yours."

"You say that like a woman in the know. Should I be worried?"

"That you live two minutes from the park where I go running? I don't know, you tell me?"

"Smooth cover, but I'm going to stick with my stalker theory."

She blushes prettily and offers him a shrug that she hopes appears completely natural and effortless. She keeps her voice light, almost disinterested, and valiantly ignores the thudding beat of her heart in her throat.

"Why don't you just stay here for the night? You could get someone to look at your bike for half the price in the morning..."

Blue eyes pierce her intensely and she just prays that her cheeks aren't ridiculously flushed. An uneasy silence falls between them as House searches her face for clues to her heart, and she can do nothing but stand there uncomfortably until he rewards her with an answer.

"Are you proposing we have a sleepover, Dr Cameron?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"Are you proposing we have a sleepover, Dr Cameron?"_

House raises an eyebrow, penetrating her with twinkling eyes and she wonders briefly how they got to be standing so close. She blushes, and the older doctor notes that this seems to be a prevailing reaction this evening, but she offers him a casual shrug as if the notion is no big deal to her.

"I guess, I mean, why not?"

"Can I be the little spoon?"

"What?... I didn't mean..."

She had been making her way over to her couch to remove the cushions and pull out the spare bed integrated within its frame, and now stops in her tracks, looking flustered.

"I meant that I'd sleep in here... I was going to say you could sleep in my bed and... N-not together..."

House grins, finding the way the young brunette stammers over her words as though he is the first boy she's been allowed to have round to stay over deeply amusing. He allows her to stand, lost, in the middle of her living room for a moment longer, before throwing her a mock pout and pointing his finger at her accusingly.

"You're no fun."

"I... I just..."

"Relax, Cameron, I'd  _never_  let you be the big spoon anyway. I call sofa; my little girl needs her beauty sleep."

"Gee,  _thanks._ "

"Welcome"

The expression on her face is a conflict between hurt and bemusement and he decides he quite likes the idea of torturing her past hospital hours. She turns back to the sofa and pulls at the cushions before dragging out the spare bed with shrill creak.

"You'll just have to put up with the morning result, House, I'm sleeping in here."

"I see...Noble Dr Cameron; sacrificing the comfort of her own bed for the poor cripple."

"Actually, I just don't want you snooping around my stuff while I'm asleep."

She lies, negating to admit his theory playing part of her reasoning.

"And what makes you think I won't snoop around your bedroom?"

"I have no doubt that you _will._.. We'll call it the lesser of two evils... Bathroom's round to the right there."

She points to a narrow door that stands slightly ajar and House limps in that direction; his knowledge of female nature urging him to get himself sorted before she locks herself away in there.

* * *

Naturally, his first instinct is to check out her medicine cabinet, but he is suitably unimpressed with its contents. A few unused- still packaged- pots of moisturizer and scented bath oils that were presumably given to the young doctor as gifts. Toothpaste, mouthwash, dentil floss, razors, a weird turquoise foam thing he has no clue on, and a small box of store-brand tampons.

He splashes his face with cold water and pumps a little of the soap that stands beside her sink into his hands to scrub at his jaw. Almond milk and honey. It smells sweet, appetizingly so, and he recognizes it for the faint whiff he sometimes catches from papers she has been annotating. Swilling some cool mint mouthwash and gargling childishly, he spits the green liquid into the sink before making his way to the young brunette's bedroom, offering her an awkward nod as she bids him goodnight.

* * *

House abruptly shoves the soft, worn covers away from his face once again. This is his third time of doing so; scolding himself for having the downy fabric pulled appreciatively to his nose only to find himself in much the same position moments later. The soft gray cotton holds a faint hint of her laundry detergent; surprisingly fresh rather than floral. Mixing pleasantly with this is the instantly recognizable smell of, well, her. Delicately sweet with a hint of something spicy.

He pushes the duvet firmly to rest at his chest and closes his eyes, waiting in vain for sleep. Lying this way for eleven seconds he curses and rolls onto his side, glancing at the nihilistically simple alarm clock on her bedside cabinet.

Eleven twenty. Brilliant.

He sighs irritably and lets his eyes dance around the small room. Apart from her bed and the matching nightstand on either side, the room is relatively bare. A worse-for-wear chest of drawers stands faithfully against the far wall, on which sits a sparse collection of simple jewelry. The only point of interest in Cameron's small bedroom is to his left, where a narrow floor-length mirror hangs upon the wall, a set of digital weighing scales placed neatly before it. This in itself is not all that peculiar he supposes, but what draws his attention is the pale yellow measuring tape that loops over a hook next to the mirror.

He supposes a less observant man would presume she suffered from some sort of body dismorphia, but he knows the young brunette too well to fear for her well being. Or, rather, too well to assume she suffers from an eating disorder. He knows Cameron to simply be painfully anal, and suspects that her weight hasn't fluctuated by more than a couple of pounds since working for him. He imagines she goes through the ritual of weighing and measuring every day, but only to keep herself in check. He knows that if she were to gain a pound or inch she would forgo most food the following day, but he also knows that if she were to lose weight she would purposefully gain the pounds back.

_Psycho._

Out of spite for her previous comment, he reaches across the bed and checks the contents of the nightstand. Empty. He turns to its twin on his side- her side too, it would seem- and peeks into the shallow drawer curiously. Lip balm, a spare set of reading glasses, and a small foil sheet studded with little yellow pills. She is, of course, up to date with these.

No dirty book. No dirty toys. No fun.

The smooth slosh of the Jim Beam, so pleasant at the time, now nags irritably at his bladder and he pushes himself up from the comfort of her bed to limp to where his cane rests beside the door. Its tip is rubber and makes little noise, and he is careful to keep his footsteps as light as possible.

The living room is relatively dark, but its contents lies awash in the hazy glow of tungsten pollution coming from the street lights outside. Including Cameron herself. House stops for a moment to peer down at his young employee; lying on her back with one small hand curled in a loose fist beside her head and the other rested gently on her stomach. Long hair cascades about her pale features like a veil, and the dark gray tank top she wears has ridden up in sleep and exposes a pale swatch of smooth flesh between her navel and the duvet that collects at her hips.

House frowns as he continues to simply observe the dreaming brunette. When her eyes are open and she stares at him with a gaze that is brilliant green, demanding answers and feelings and _everything_  from him, his response is to shut down and shut her out. It is how things have always gone, and in a way- a way that is probably preferable to  _him_  rather than  _her_ \- this works. But watching her as she lies oblivious to his bright blue stare, he feels himself soften alarmingly, and he supposes that somewhere, beneath all his goading comments and irritable griping, he is- for some unknown reason- fond of the young doctor.

 _It's just when she wakes_ up _that she's a pain in the ass._

He shakes himself from this dangerous subject of contemplation and limps into the bathroom. He is at a loss of whether to flush once he's done or not, unsure whether such things are considered polite when someone is asleep. The fact that he debates such a thing at all surprises him, and he stares at himself sternly in the small mirror above the sink, reprimanding himself for his odd behavior.

In the end he decides not to flush, and primly lowers the lid down on the yellowed water in the toilet bowl. He washes his hands with an excessive amount of soap, his nostrils flaring as that instantly recognizable scent wafts delicately up to his nose.

He shuffles back into the living room and notes that Cameron lies in much the same position as he'd left her, and begins making his way back to her bedroom. He stops when his attention is drawn to a small, framed photograph on the cabinet beside her TV which features a face he knows very well.

As he should, after all; it is his own.

The small four by six features himself, Wilson and Chase, and from the ghastly hat resting wonkily on the ooze's head, he guesses it was taken at the hospital christmas party. He is surprised at how old he looks in the image; glaring and unsmiling, but supposes this could be blamed on the distinct frown resting arrogantly at his brow. His friend's expression is relatively more serene as he holds a champagne flute up as though toasting the photographer, while Chase's expression speaks of one too many beers.

House casts a curious eye over the various other images that sit in their eclectic array of frames, fascinated by those that depict his three young fellows, much the same way he is fascinated when watching a particularly enthralling nature documentary.

In a small black frame sits a photo of Foreman and Cameron, clearly taken on hospital grounds, with the ugly brick of Princeton Plainsboro looming ominously in the the background. Cameron's arm is slung loosely around her colleague's neck and their teeth form matching grins; white with youth. An ornate, silver frame hosts a picture of the two boys together, seemingly taken in some bar somewhere, both with a hand raised in a mocking wave at the photographer. Presumably Cameron.

The photo that he finds  _most_  interesting is a slightly larger image clipped in a simple corked frame. The angle of the image is odd, and he supposes Chase had taken it on the young brunette's camera or given her a copy, as the perspective points to him having held the camera out at arms length to snap the three of them. Again, the setting appears to be a bar, perhaps the same one, and they sit bunched up close together so as to all fit in the picture. House can make out the upper half of each of their drinks- beer, beer, beer- and the rosy tinge to their cheeks hints at these not being their first. His young fellows are dressed in a way that is weirdly foreign to him; casual and dressed-down. The men wear cotton t-shirts, Chase's emblazoned with a slogan and Foreman's featuring Bruce Springsteen. Cameron wears a simple green sweater, cut surprisingly low and- in the position she holds in the image- revealing a thin slice of the black satin of her bra where the V has draped low on one side.

Cute.

He doesn't recognize the people in the other two images, but guesses the black and white portrait of a severe looking woman to be Cameron's grandmother, and the meekly handsome young man in army fatigues standing patiently within a small, square frame to be her late husband. Scattered amongst the photos are a series of cards.

_'Allie,_

_Merry Christmas :) We need to get on that bottle of wine you promised!_

_Have a good one!_

_Much love, Chase.'_

Reads one.

_'Dear Cameron,_

_Happy Holidays, homeslice!_

_Hope you like the scarf._

_From, Foreman.'_

Reads another.

_'Cameron._

_House.'_

His own neat writing sits small in the vast expanse of naked white space, but he notes his own card has been given pride of place. He remembers it as well, as unlike the ghastly glittered reindeer and chorus of angels that scream up at him from its cousins, his own card depicts a print of The Scream.

She had mentioned once in passing Edvard Munch to be her favorite expressionist artist.

Speaking of hideous cards, he picks up one such culprit from the behind his own, this one depicting a doe-eyed puppy bearing a rose in it's soppily grinning mouth. House smirks in disgust and scans the inside curiously.

_'Allie_

_Thanks for a brilliant night, babe._

_I hope you like these roses, and there's plenty more to come!_

_I'll see you soon hopefully._

_Lots of love, Mark xx'_

_Mark?_

House places the card distastefully at the back of the cabinet. He glances over to where the brunette still sleeps and mulls over the fact that someone, some guy, has recently seen the same thing. And a whole lot more, judging by the fact he'd felt the need to buy her roses and a card.

House pads over to the spare bed and stares down into the pale face of the doctor beneath him. With the way her dark hair spills over the pillow he can all too easily image she would look much the same if looking up at him as he buried himself deep inside her. He banishes the thought angrily.

He wishes he hadn't read that damn card. He doesn't like the thought of Cameron with  _some_  man. Underneath  _some_  man. On top of  _some_  man. He could have had her and he'd refused her, he knows this, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone  _else_  to have the pleasure. She is  _his_  shy, innocent little doctor, and the thought of her slick and naked is not one he wishes to dwell on. It's not that he doesn't find her attractive. He does. But rather... He _likes_  her. He likes her for being strangely witty and wittily strange, and the women he thinks of rutting and fucking are cheap and replaceable.

She's not his type.

But that doesn't mean he wants anyone  _else_  fucking her.

He glares back at the accusatory card angrily.

_Seriously. What loser fucks someone and then sends them roses?_

"...Not that it's highly creepy or anything, but how long have you been standing there?"

House snaps his attention warily back down to the brunette, who now regards him sleepily, but a little alarmed.

"I was..."

_Shit._


	3. Chapter 3

"...House?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just came out to go to the bathroom and..."

"...Stayed around to watch me sleep?"

She stares up at him curiously, her eyes glittering in the semi-darkness. He tenses, not sure how best to deal with this situation. His first choice of action is to simply throw his hands up above his head- fuck his cane- and limp out into the street into oncoming traffic. He has a feeling this may have adverse affects on his wellbeing and so remains where he is, glaring down at her as though this is somehow  _her_  fault.

"Is that not what bosses do?"

"Not ones that don't want to get arrested, I don't think..."

"Ah, I should probably reread several clauses within my contract in that case."

"Well, I won't argue with  _that_... Could you not get to sleep?"

She props herself up onto her elbows, fully awake now, and looks up at him with that irritatingly doe-eyed expression he hates. It's the same way she looks at him in his erratically confusing dreams and,  _God_ , he just wishes she'd pull her damn top down to cover her stomach; the flesh on display promising to be taut and impossibly smooth.

"No."

"I can never get to sleep in strange places either... Do you want any water or anything?"

"What, no hot milk?"

He smirks at her snidely, imagining her cheeks are pinkening at his scoffing at her expense, but unable to tell due to the lack of light.

"Do you  _want_  some hot milk?"

Her tone is neutral, and he feels suddenly deflated as he realizes she's not offended in the slightest.

_Well, it's getting late, you're not on top form, and there's only so many times you can make fun of her for being ridiculously sweet before she stops giving a shit._

He refuses to dwell on the fact that he wants to annoy her for being pathetically sweet and innocent.  _Needs_ to think of her as pathetically sweet and innocent. It contradicts his less than kosher image of her courtesy of that bothersome card.

"House?"

He jumps, realising that he is simply stood there- looming over his youngest employee- in a way that is possibly quite menacing. He doesn't want any damn hot milk, but he also doesn't want to spend the next couple of hours tossing and turning in her bed.

"I'll get some water."

"It's ok, let me, I'd like some too"

She slides easily from the sofa bed, grinning at its punishing screech, and pads lightly over to her kitchen in the hazy glow of the city lights that bleed into her dark apartment. House closes his eyes and pinches sharply at his nose when he takes in the full ensemble of what she's wearing.

_Oh Christ, she's only wearing her damn underwear._

A cautious second glance at her- really quite pleasing- backside stands him corrected. She is in actual fact wearing cotton shorts, but he doubts she would dare wear them out in the summer; they are ridiculously small, cut just above the gentle curve of her ass.

"Well well, this really  _is_  a girly sleepover! If only I'd packed  _my_  cheerleading shorties too!"

She turns to glare at him, and despite the lack of light, he can tell that she really is blushing now. Her fingers play across the hem of the worn cotton shyly and he knows she wants to pull it primly down, but the skimpy little number is so short that doing so will merely expose her more intimate areas; the material hanging low on sharp hipbones.

"Shut up, House, I forgot to get my pyjamas out of my room and didn't want to disturb you; these are all I had in the laundry basket."

"Oh, and dirty too! Why, Dr Cameron, stop! You're making me blush!"

_And that's not the only affect you're having._

"They're not dirty! I've worn them, like, three nights, and it's not like I've been _doing_  anything in them..."

She trails off and he can almost hear the cogs turning in her mind as she realizes the connotations of _that_  statement.

"Mark's been busy, then?"

"I- What?"

"Mark; the dude with a love for miserable looking puppies and a tendency to send roses as a thank you for hot sex,  _ah_ , I apologize; ' _making love_ '."

Cameron covers her face with her palms and shakes her head. He imagines the action is one of disparity, but he can't help but appreciate the way it causes her top to ride up a little and her hair to tumble softly in time with the movement.

"So much for me thinking sleeping in here would stop you from prying..."

"Never underestimate a bored cripple."

"Clearly."

She sighs, and fills two small beakers with water.

 _She has fucking_ beakers _..._

After a moments hesitation, she reaches for the rest of the Jim Beam resting on the counter and brings that over too. House eyes the bottle curiously as she places the water on the coffee table she has previously shoved against the wall. She catches the direction of his attention and shrugs, deftly screwing the top off the bottle and taking a sip.

"I have a feeling I can expect at least another twenty minutes of comments at my expense, so..."

He grins, and without really thinking about it, takes a seat on the foot of the spare bed. She crawls back into the bed, giggling at that ever persistent wail of springs, and pulls the blanket primly up over her bare legs. She does this in a way that is obviously supposed to appear accidental, but fails miserably, and he feels a little guilty for staring in the first place.

_Any man would. I mean, a girl walks around half naked, they're asking for it._

_Half your age, half your age, half your age..._

He clears his throat and she leans over to pass him the bottle. He feels oddly shy nipping from the same glass where her lips have so recently been pressed, and he can taste the lingering traces of her Chapstick.

He doubts she'd appreciate a Katy Perry reference.

"So, are you not going to get into trouble for having another man in your bed, Dr Cameron?"

"You're hardly  _in_  my bed, House"

" _On_  your bed, then. Good. Mixing it up. Next stop; table top!"

She rolls her eyes despairingly but gives a small laugh, opting to simply go on as if she isn't now picturing House lifting her up onto her small kitchen table and pressing his lips to hers.

"It was three dates, I forgot that card was even there..."

He knows the last part to be a lie; the young brunette is incapable of forgetting to change the flowers and rearrange the cards left by their patient's beds, so there's no way she'd forget about the memoirs in her own apartment.

"Do men  _often_  buy you roses in exchange for sexual favours? If so, you may be missing out on a trick, I've heard some girls have started taking  _cash_  for such things."

She kicks him swiftly, the blow greatly softened by the bulky blankets that create a buffer between her foot and his thigh. He notes she'd aimed for his good thigh, despite it being the harder of the two to reach.

"You're an ass, and who said anything about sex? He just thought it'd be sweet!"

House grins, the embarrassment clear in her voice.

"But you did _have_  sex, right?"

"... So?"

She squares her shoulders and eyes him cooly, her features weirdly exaggerated in the shadows. He admires the way her pupils are completely blown due to the darkness.

He doubts, knowing Cameron, that it has anything to do with their current conversation.

"No need to get cagey. Are things not going well with old Sparky? Do you call him Sparky?"

"No, I don't call him Sparky, and I don't know... Like I said, it was three dates..."

"You did, and I can't help noticing you keep referring to them as if they are a thing of the past?"

"I don't know yet."

"Ah... Going through your first lover's tiff?"

"No... I just got a bit bored is all."

"So he's shit in bed?"

House waggles his eyebrows at her and readies himself for the onslaught of bashful cries, but she surprises him by throwing her head back and laughing briefly before regarding him with a pevertedly raised eyebrow.

"Oh, no, that's  _definitely_  not why."

"Details, or it didn't happen."

Her air of salacious coyness shatters as she giggles demurely and shakes her head.

"Not _going_  to happen... Look, he's just not... He's boring."

"Meanwhile,  _you_  are little Miss Adventurous herself?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you  _don't_  know everything about me, House?"

"No, but ok, I'll play. What  _don't_  I know? Fill me in on this epic lifestyle you secretly lead, and, just to be clear,  _please_  don't feel you can't share anything explicitly homoerotic or sexual now; you are currently the  _only_  child present."

She glares at him, secretly wishing she had come up with something smart and cutting  _before_  challenging him. She hasn't even got any erroneous piercings she can flash him or any interesting scars. Sighing, she shrugs and takes a sip from the bottle that rests between them.

"Ok, I guess you caught me; I'm dull as fuck."

House feels a grin creep pleasantly over his dry lips. He leans forward and takes the bottle from her, keeping his eyes trained intensely on hers in the darkness.

" _Well_ , look who's suddenly found her big girl words..."

She grins sheepishly and he briefly wonders if she'll be able to see his body's reaction to her use of crude language once he releases her gaze from his prison.

She reaches forward without warning, and he is accosted with a tantalizingly warm puff of air against his shoulder from her parted lips, soft chestnut curls brushing maddeningly over his arm. And then she sits back, the bourbon- her conquest- gripped neatly in her small, pale hand.

He looks away as she tips it to her mouth; the decreasing level of liquid meaning she has to hold the bottle higher, thus exposing the delicately smooth skin of her throat.

He wonders if she likes being bitten.

"Are you cold?"

"Huh?"

He turns back to look at her and sees something odd in her expression. He can't quite distinguish what it is, but it processes in the back of his mind to be catalogued later.

_Horny? Aroused? Of course not; it's Cameron for god's sake._

"...Are you cold?"

"Um, I'm alright..."

"You should get under the covers, it's warmer."

He regards her levelly, attempting to smoke out her intentions with silence. She doesn't crack, but merely lifts the corner of the blanket on the vacant side of the narrow sofa bed pointedly.

"That is,  _if_  you're cold?"

Her tone is neutral, but her gaze is heavy, and he holds it for just a little while longer.

"...I am quite cold."

He pushes himself up from the foot of the bed and limps around to the side and slides in under the covers.

This time she doesn't giggle at the groan elicited beneath them.

He pulls the blanket up over himself slowly, and lies back with his head propped up slightly by her pillows. They remain silent, each staring ahead expressionlessly as House becomes acutely aware of her body-heat emanating towards him under the covers.

A minute movement and his boxer-clad leg brushes against her soft bare flesh and he hears her catch her breath.

So does his.


	4. Chapter 4

They lie in silence for what seems like hours but is really no longer than fifteen seconds. She can hear his steady breathing, so comfortingly close, and can smell the leathery spice she has come to think of as 'his' scent.

Closing her eyes against the darkness and praying she won't find herself regretting it within the next couple of seconds, she navigates her hand tentatively beneath the warm blankets until she finds the warm flesh of his arm. She plays out a peculiar little pattern, tapping featherlight touches across his skin, and House finds himself wondering if the young brunette has ever considered taking up playing the piano.

He imagines her slender fingers would flutter effortlessly over the smooth, contrasting keys in a way that would make his jaw tick feverishly.

"Cameron..."

He turns his head towards her and finds her staring back at him intently. The darkness within her glittering eyes makes his stomach clench, and he lowers his own gaze by a fraction so as to avoid drowning in them.

_Bad move._

He has contemplated her lips many times before; after all, he has often allowed the young doctor to wander a dangerous line between thought and fantasy in his mind. Working with Cameron for the majority of his waking hours, he has many a time watched- out of the corner of his eye- as she has raised a pen or pencil to her mouth and tapped its end pensively against her bottom lip, occasionally digging her neat white teeth into the implement.

At their current proximity, and with the electricity currently coursing between them, he finds himself admiring the delicate curve of her lips with new intent.

With an objective.

She closes her eyes again as he leans awkwardly over to press his mouth to hers. House's lips are dry and slightly chapped, and the scruff surrounding them scratches the soft skin of her chin, and it's perfect.

Bracing her weight on the palm planted flat against the mattress between them, Cameron twists her body slightly so that their positions are less clumsy; nipping at House's bottom lip gently to be rewarded with immediate admission. She takes it eagerly, inwardly pleading with her heart to slow its frantic beating before she passes out, as his tongue explores hers with a curiosity that is so innately  _House_.

House suppresses a groan as the young brunette shudders against him, her eagerness apparent in the small noises she makes; just audible as she catches her breath every now and then. He can taste the bourbon on her breath, along with the lingering and inexplicably childlike hint of her toothpaste, and it's so obviously wrong, but it feels somehow right, and for a moment longer he simply enjoys the softness of her lips and the intoxicating taste of her.

Finally, as she leans closer still, the hand not busy holding her up moving to cup his face momentarily before gliding slowly down to rest at his chest, he pushes her away. Gently.

"Cameron..."

His jaw clenches, and he really doesn't want to look her in the eye because he knows exactly what he'll find there after pressing his hand firmly against the fragile bone of her clavicle and pushing her away from him. He expects her to express her hurt. To tell him he's an ass. But she simply brushes her long hair away from her face and studies him impatiently through the darkness. He can feel the burn of her eyes on his flesh and realizes there's no way he can avoid her. Not with the way her leg is still pressed softly against his. He raises his gaze to find hers and is surprised by the calm expression that graces her pretty features.

"What? Are you going to ask me if I'm sure I want to do this? If I've thought it through?... You already know the answer to that, House... Are you going to tell me I'm too young? That a 'little girl' can't possibly know what she's doing? Because I really wouldn't have thought that was something that would bother you... and I assure you I know _exactly_ what I'm doing...="

She slips her hand once more beneath the covers, but this time she traces her fingers along his good thigh, and she traces them  _up_. House shivers despite himself, his head spinning as he tries to find a snide retort to her brazenness but coming up pitifully empty.

"-Because if you  _are_  going to tell me those things... Just do it... Get it out the way..."

"Cameron..."

_Damn it, stop saying her name- although it is a series of sounds that dances about the mouth most pleasantly- and tell her she's an idiot. Call her out..._

House opens his mouth to comply with her demand- to tell her that this has to stop _now_  before anything becomes too real- but then she moves herself with peculiar grace beneath the blanket and she's kneeling over him, straddling his lap. She rests her weight high up on his frame, straddling his hips rather than his legs, so as to avoid injuring his left thigh, and he supposes he can't tell her he doesn't want this because evidence to the contrary is now pushing angrily against her centre.

She is impossibly light, her bare skin against his legs intoxicatingly soft, and her cool fingers find his hot cheeks in the darkness; her lips brushing ever so gently against his. His hands find her waist on instinct, and he guesses he would be able to touch his thumbs and forefingers together if he were to try and encircle her small frame there. Her hands leave his face so that her fingers can entwine themselves in his short hair and he takes control of their kiss, his tongue demanding and receiving entrance, and it's blissful, until she works a small rotation with her hips and he bites down on her lip as his eyes snap shut.

" _Fuck_ "

Cameron grins as her lip is released- a little painfully- and continues to brush her mouth against his. House runs his hands up her body, the soft fabric of her top pulling up just a little in response. He tells himself not to, but proceeds to play his fingers against the swell of her breasts before he finds her shoulders and pushes her back gently.

"House?"

He is unbearably aware of her perfect weight against him, and the way her breathing is slightly erratic. The way her hair frames her face and shoulders, causing his groin to question his mind angrily.

"We can't... I mean... How far is this going to go? You're... I'm twice your age, Cameron..."

"And?"

He frowns, allowing himself to move his hands back to her hips, scolding his fingers as they stretch just that bit further to stroke momentarily across the globed flesh of her ass. He wants to tell her that he can't do this; that by asking her how far this is going to go, what he means is 'are we really going to do this, _all_  of this, right now?'. He should tell her to get up, to get off him, and leave her to sulk broodingly while he tries to sleep off his raging arousal.

It would be kinder to  _both_  of them in the long run.

He _should_  do this, but everything about the way she looks, feels- hell- even  _smells_ as she sits straddling his lap tells him he won't.

"How drunk are you right now?"

"You're not taking advantage, House."

"...I don't love you, Cameron..."

She studies him levelly, her eyes darting across his weathered face, following the lines and creases she has memorized. She captures his crystal stare and holds it for as long as she dares. A small part of her crumbles upon hearing those words- at the fact that he needs to say them aloud- but she softly reprimands that wounded part to hush now; to be quiet. After all, it's nothing she doesn't know already, and right now, that's ok, because right now she doesn't need him to love her.

She focuses on the way his fingers inch stealthily forwards to cop a better feel of her backside.

She focuses on the way his arousal is pressed aggressively against the thin material covering her heat.

"I know that... But I have to say, I'm having a hard time believing you don't even  _like_  me..."

He growls at her coy response, biting back a smirk to match the slow smile creeping across her lips. Refusing to let the expression culminate in its all too knowing grin, he presses his mouth roughly to hers, large hands no longer displaying any pretense and grabbing the pert cheeks of her ass possessively. Pulling her into him.

"Are you sure you want this?"

House glares at her, the brunette grinning salaciously as she mocks him. He digs his fingers deeper into her flesh in reprimand; the motion sliding them beneath the flimsy fabric of her shorts so that he is accosted with the silken warmth of her bare skin. She laughs quietly; eyes glittering impishly in the hazy darkness and he wonders if maybe he spoke too soon.

Banishing the thought, he quickly flips her onto her back- the delight her shocked yelp gives him overshadowing the angry twinge from his thigh- and hovers over her menacingly.

"Shut up, Cameron."

"Make me."

 


	5. Chapter 5

House looms over the young brunette dominantly. A large part of him- a _familiar_  part of him- wants to simply rip away those damed flimsy shorties, yank up her top and just  _fuck_  the naive little girl lying before him with her legs slightly spread to accommodate his presence. To simply use her to rid himself of the delicious ache building in his groin any way he sees fit and be done with it.

She'd most likely _let_  him, too.

And, he  _does_  shove the soft cotton of her tank top roughly up to expose perfect breasts- growling into the flesh at her collarbone as he takes in their firm symmetry and the taut, flat expanse of her stomach- and he  _does_  rip her shorts savagely down her slim legs so that they rest awkwardly at her knees; groaning when he realizes she isn't wearing anything underneath.

He grins as the young doctor lets out her second small yelp of the evening, but while this sound is possibly one of the most intoxicating noises he has ever heard- at least, certain parts of his anatomy seem to think so- he stops himself from yanking down his boxers, spreading her legs, and just fucking her.

Because it's Cameron.

He feels the young immunologist give a small shiver beneath him- his sudden aggression surprising her- and lowers himself gently down; careful not to crush her, but relishing the feeling of her slim, athletic frame trapped beneath his. His hidden want presses hotly against the smooth skin of her inner thigh and he laces his fingers into the luxurious waves of her hair, pressing his mouth to hers in a fashion much softer to that in which he'd undressed her.

Cameron allows his tongue to slip between her lips to find hers, using one hand to pluck at the cotton of House's shirt and the other to sneak down to where his hardness throbs against her thigh; wrapping slim fingers around the hot fabric stretched there.

" _Shit_..."

His mouth leaves hers as he starts a slow trail down her jaw; knowing the abrasive scratch of his scruff will be reddening her pale skin and not caring in the slightest. His ministrations are interrupted, as he sucks, hard, at the flesh of her collarbone- it will bruise, and she'll have to wear a high collared shirt for the next few days- when she lets out a frustrated sigh and pushes him from her.

"Take the damn shirt off!"

House grins as he takes in the unbridled lust that pools in her eyes and pulls the shirt quickly up over his head; tossing it carelessly into the corner. He takes the opportunity to rid himself of his boxers; his grin taking on a lewd twist as he watches the young brunette bite her bottom lip as she drinks in newly revealed flesh. Her eyes flicker to his scar, and he tenses, but she doesn't even blink before returning her gaze to the rest of him. House runs a hand down her leg; starting at the very apex of her thighs and allowing his knuckles to brush momentarily against her need, before snagging the thin material of her shorts between his fingers and pulling them the rest of the way down her legs.

When the shorts get to her ankles, Cameron gives a swift flick of her foot and sends them flying in the general direction of her kitchen. She pushes herself up onto her elbows, pulling House down to brush her lips against his before pushing him firmly away. The older doctor sits back curiously, admiring the way that, despite the brunette's position, her stomach remains taut and flat. Cameron pulls herself up onto her knees- offering him a small smile that is obscurely sweet given the situation- and crawls to rest between his thighs.

Taking him in her hand, her fingers are strangely cool, and she allows them to pump rhythmically as she tucks her long hair behind her ear before leaning forward. House closes his eyes and clears his throat, the image of the young doctor pulling back her hair with clear intent sure to be forever ingrained in his mind.

"Cameron... You don't have to do... That..."

Green eyes flicker up as the brunette studies him levelly. She waits until House opens his eyes to find her own before giving a teasing stroke with the flat of her tongue.

"I know."

"Oh god."

He alternates between clenching his eyes shut with his head thrown back and cracking them open to watch her work. He struggles to know where to look and lets his attention wander from the tantalizing glisten of her lips as they slide over his flesh, to the smooth skin of her back where her spine and ribcage ripple softly beneath sparsely freckled flesh; the little indents above her ass threatening to drive him deliciously mad. Occasionally he twists a handful of her glossy hair around his fist, but scolds himself when his grip gets instinctively too tight; forbidding himself from thrusting up against her despite the primal urge to do so.

"You're... If you don't want this to be over in the next f- _ah_ -ive seconds, you're going to have to stop doing that."

 _Where the hell did she_ learn  _to do that anyway?_

He uses the soft curls entwined in his fingers to pull her away gently, his eyes locked intently on her sex-swollen lips as she offers him a salacious little smirk.

"Fuck me..."

"That's the plan."

_And since when does little Miss Sunshine possess an attitude?_

He pulls her roughly to him; demanding entrance with his kiss as he runs the hand that isn't holding her head dominantly in place, well, everywhere.

"You're so soft..."

House opens his eyes as Cameron laughs against his mouth, cutting her husky giggling short as he cups her sex with a calloused hand. He waits for her to open her eyes to look at him- her face millimeters from his own- and enters her with just the tip of his index finger. The brunette gives a choked gasp and House takes the opportunity to swallow the breathy sound hungrily, moving his finger rhythmically.

Cameron moves her hands to splay across the sparsly haired planes of the older doctor's chest, finding the hard muscle there to feel better beneath her fingers than she had even imagined. She wonders distractedly if House has ever found himself praised for his sinewy build and handsome features. She recalls him questioning her after finding out she harbored feelings for him, when he had proposed the idea to be odd for many reasons, one of which being he did not consider himself to be particularly good looking. She could tell him now of her admiration for his physicality. Could commend and compliment him fittingly, but she knows he won't want to hear it. Instead she just hums contently against his lips as he continues the delicious movements with his finger.

House feels the young brunette begin to shake against his hand and ponders on whether this is due to pleasure, or the sure strain on her thighs as she remains knelt on slightly splayed knees on the soft mattress. Running his glistening fingers up the firm flesh of her stomach, he palms none to gently at her breast before pushing at her sternum pointedly. She takes the hint and allows him to lower her down until her head rests softly on one of the pillows, rearranging her legs to cradle his hips and running her nails teasingly over the smooth skin at his shoulder blades as he hovers over her once more.

House briefly notes that her hair looks just as he'd imagined it would splayed out about her on the pillow.

"Condom?"

"Pill."

"...That's foolishly trusting on your part."

"Not when I've seen your medical files; you're clean, and obsessively cautious."

"You snooped on my medical files?"

"You snooped on mine."

"... Well, that's uncharacteristically sneaky of you, Dr Cameron..."

"It was an accident, I saw your check-up files on Cuddy's desk when I was waiting for her."

"And did you  _accidentally_  look inside, too?"

"...Oops."

"Naughty girl."

He nips sharply at her bottom lip, chuckling huskily when she lets out a small whimper. Soothing abused flesh with his tongue, House strokes his hand wantonly over the warm flesh of her hip and thigh, his hardness pressing urgently against the soft skin of her stomach. Cupping her leg in his hand, he pushes her thighs farther apart, looking down into her pale face approvingly when she spreads them wider still of her own accord.

"Flexible..."

"Well, those actually  _were_  cheerleading shorts from college..."

"... Why has  _that_ never come up before?"

"Must have slipped my mind..."

Cameron offers a sinful grin which causes House to fear a very abrupt end to their current situation. Retaliating with a dirty leer of his own, he runs his hand up to find her wetness once more and toys with her mercilessly until she squirms beneath him.

"House... s-stop..."

He speeds up his ministrations for a brief moment- studying her intently as she closes her eyes and lets out harsh, shuddering breaths- before doing as he's told and stilling his fingers. He adjusts his position slightly and guides himself to press against her entrance. Lowering his head to kiss her gently, House slowly pushes into her. Once completely buried in her warmth he lets out a low groan and glances to the side, where her hand clenches at the blankets in a tight fist. He studies her face seriously, aware that he is generously endowed and that the young brunette is small and blissfully tight.

"Okay?"

He strokes a stray curl of hair from her flushed cheek, inwardly asking himself where  _that_ came from, and waits for her to instruct him further.

"Yeah... Move, House."

He does as he's told, moving slowly at first as he feels her muscles fluttering around him, adjusting to accept his length. Cameron pulls him closer to her, letting out a low, appreciative hum as he brings his mouth down to her throat and sucks maddeningly at her pulse point. Gripping at his muscular shoulders- her nails sure to leave small marks on his flesh- she wraps her legs around him, allowing for a more intense angle.

"Cameron,  _fuck_!"

As he continues to explore her, taste her, he absently muses on whether their current activity would herald the using of each other's first names. He banishes the thought firmly; he has never called her Allison, save for perhaps in her interview, and isn't about to start doing so now. She has always been Cameron to him, and he finds it to be a collection of vowels and consonants that suit her just right.

"House..."

Her muffled groan into flushed flesh leads him to believe she is of a similar opinion.

He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the brink; their movements no longer tentative but urgent and wild. Venturing his hand between their sex-slick flesh he finds her clit and bares down with his finger in small concentric circles. Cameron's breath hitches audibly and House groans when he feels her tighten her thighs around him, her inner muscles beginning to flutter tellingly.

"Cam-ah...I'm going to come."

"Okay..."

Increasing the speed of his ministrations with his finger, he thrusts into her twice more before growling loudly into the soft flesh of her neck while her thighs clamp around him in a death grip.

Eventually, Cameron loosens the hold of her legs, waiting for her breathing to return to normal as her fingers flutter soothingly over the damp skin of the older doctor's back. House counts to ten, his pulse thudding hotly in his head, before rolling off of the brunette onto his back, arm slung over his eyes in exhaustion.

The young brunette lies rigidly still. She is completely unsure how to proceed, as the reality of the situation filters through the haze of her afterglow. She knows House well enough to suspect that he would generally leave after what just happened, but the fact that his bike remains useless makes this all painfully awkward. She timidly feels around for the blanket and pulls it gently to cover herself up, shooting a glance at House who seems to be either ignoring her or has actually fallen asleep. She would guess it's the first option.

House frowns beneath the salted weight of his arm as he hears the rustling of sheets to his right, deducing the young brunette to be crawling beneath them. He weighs up his options carefully. He knows he can't leave, and, he begrudgingly realizes he wouldn't even if he could. Personally, he could quite happily just stay lying here until blessed with sleep- rising only to pop a few Vicodin as he suspects his leg will soon be punishing him dearly for tonight's extra-curricula activities- but he imagines the current silence is a step away from giving his young fellow a mental breakdown. The thought causes him to roll his covered eyes, but, as much as he loves letting Cameron stew- in fact, at work it is one of his favorite past times- he finds himself lowering his arm and peering over at her considerately.

He is met with a mass of chocolate curls and a skinny pale shoulder as she faces away from him, but he can tell instantly that she is far from resting peacefully.

"I suppose we may as well go sleep in an actual bed now..."

She rolls over slowly, green eyes searching his face for sarcasm or cruelty and finding none. Offering him a small smile, she nods and pushes herself up from the bed. House watches curiously as she stands with the blanket clutched to her chest, her face an open book as she ponders her current lack of attire. With a demure flick of her hand and down-cast eyes she lets the blankets drop back in their place and moves through her darkened apartment naked.

House watches the ghostly shape she makes as she pads lightly to the bathroom to clean herself up, reaching out for his cane which lies forgotten at the foot of the guest bed- pausing to help himself to two Vicodin from his jacket which hangs by her front door- and making his way to her small bedroom. He crawls tiredly beneath the cool sheets and lets his mind drift slowly towards sleep. He hears the gentle click of the door and her light footsteps, before the mattress dips ever so slightly and he is met with the sweet scent of almond milk and honey. His lips form a knowing grin as he can practically  _taste_  the tension she holds within her small body, and, telling himself it will merely allow him to get to sleep all the sooner, her moves a little closer and rests a hand gently on the soft skin of her stomach.


End file.
